


holy rage calling your name

by ODed_on_jingle_jangle



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Arguing, Biting, Crack, Cunnilingus, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom Betty Cooper, F/F, Face Slapping, Hair-pulling, Hate Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Minor Violence, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Painful Sex, Power Dynamics, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Scratching, Season/Series 04, Vaginal Fisting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23550961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ODed_on_jingle_jangle/pseuds/ODed_on_jingle_jangle
Summary: Betty has to give the devil her due. Much to her chagrin, Donna Sweett is clever as a fox. She’s too smart for the bereaved girlfriend act, even though Betty’s put everything into making it believable. Poured all of her effort into arranging every flower petal on the bouquets at Jughead’s funeral, batting weepy eyes and punctuating her sentences with sorrowful sniffles. But Donna just isn’t buying it…It’s time to change tactics. There is a weakness of Donna’s Betty has yet to exploit, mostly out of loyalty to Jughead and partially because it’s a risky move. But desperate times call for desperate measures, don’t they?
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Donna Sweett
Comments: 18
Kudos: 50





	holy rage calling your name

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like the dialogue in s4e15 was the perfect setup for this scenario and I am so surprised no one beat me to the punch. I was really hoping somebody else would beat me to the punch because I'm trying to devote my time to the Dare Me fandom, since we are so small and need more content. But it never happened, so here we are. 
> 
> Tags pretty much describe it all, but I'll throw an extra warning in for references to self-harm, since I know that can be particularly triggering to some ppl. Donna's self-harm is referenced in the following fic, please beware. 
> 
> Title is from a line in the Goldfinch because I have a stupid sense of humor. I'm not rly funny, but I like to think I am.
> 
> Rated M and not E because I feel like the stuff rated E is mainly like, porn language and all that, and I feel like there's not much porn speak in this? Idk. Whatev. Maybe I'll change it later.

“But I know he’s close by. Know how I know? Because I saw that sex tape of yours and…Yowza. Based on the contents, you can’t go two hours, let alone two days without it.” Donna haughtily raises her chin, eyes sparkling as she seems to derive satisfaction from watching Betty’s waver. 

“You are an actual monster,” Betty chokes out, imagining how deeply this would cut if Jughead were actually dead. 

“And you are a nymphomaniac who is going to trip up sooner than later. And I’ll be there to watch you fall.” 

With that, Donna whisks around and struts confidently out of the Blue and Gold. 

Betty has to give the devil her due. Much to her chagrin, Donna Sweett is clever as a fox. She’s too smart for the bereaved girlfriend act, even though Betty’s put everything into making it believable. Poured all of her effort into arranging every flower petal on the bouquets at Jughead’s funeral, batting weepy eyes and punctuating her sentences with sorrowful sniffles. But Donna just isn’t buying it…

It’s time to change tactics. There is a weakness of Donna’s Betty has yet to exploit, mostly out of loyalty to Jughead and partially because it’s a risky move. But desperate times call for desperate measures, don’t they?

Betty hurries into the hall before Donna can get too far, seizing a fistful of silky brunette locks. Donna shrieks in surprise, reaching back, scratching at Betty’s hand. Betty bites her lip against the stinging sensation and forcefully drags Donna back into the Blue and Gold, kicking the door shut behind them. She furiously whips her arm and releases her grip, fingers sliding free as Donna’s sent stumbling. Betty doesn’t spare her a second to recover, grabbing her by the shoulders and slamming her back against the wall. 

“What the— mmph!“ 

Betty fervidly smashes their lips together, smothering whatever she was going to say. For a moment Donna is stiff as a mannequin and a flicker of doubt surfaces in her mind. Then Donna’s closing her eyes, grabbing at her back, balling Betty’s sweater in her hands until the fabric pulls taut. She hotly mouths against Betty’s lips. Bubblegum flavor bursts in Betty’s mouth as Donna’s chapstick smears. 

Betty digs her nails into Donna’s hips as their tongues tangle, rolling and wresting. Betty tilts her head, sucking Donna’s bottom lip into her mouth and then biting into it. Donna’s eyes pop open like Victorian parasols and Betty pulls back before she can draw blood. 

“You’re wrong about Jughead, but you were right about me,” she says darkly, lifting one hand and curling a lock of Donna’s mussed hair around her finger. “I’m so horny, I can’t stand it. That’s this girl-next-door’s dirty little secret.” 

Betty gives the lock a tug, Donna wincing. 

“I warned you that I wasn’t as sweet as I seemed and you fucked with my life anyway,” she murmurs with deceptive honey softness. “But I know you just couldn’t help yourself. Because I know your dirty little secret too.” 

Betty jams her knee between Donna’s legs and she lets out this sound that’s nearly a moan, head tipping back. 

“You’re obsessed with me. You’re so obsessed with me, just being in the same room with me makes you wet.” Betty presses her knee against Donna’s mound through the fabric of her starched, preppy uniform pants. “I could smell your panties getting soaked every time I met your eyes. Is that why you swapped out the skirt for the slacks? So I couldn’t smell it anymore?” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Donna protests, but there’s a catch in her voice and her face flushes cherry red. 

She doesn’t even attempt to push Betty away. She actually shifts her legs a bit, discreetly rubbing herself against Betty’s knee, body betraying her desires. Betty swipes her tongue over her lips, heart pounding. She drops her knee and takes Donna’s arm instead, yanking up her sleeve. 

Purposeful scars litter her skin from the wrist up to the inside of the elbow, old ones smooth and shiny, newer ones criss-crossed overtop. The freshest ones are still healing, skin pinkish beneath red, thready cuts. The latest cuts are not the the straight slashes of wounds prior, they are undeniably shaped like letters, B-E-T-T-Y spelled in the center of Donna’s forearm. 

Despite everything, Betty feels a tiny tug of sympathy in her gut. Donna is clearly very troubled. It’s a gruesome sight to behold, these scars on top of scars, on top of scars, all self-inflicted, and Betty knows a thing or two about that— thin white crescents collected in her palms from years of breaking skin under her fingernails. But an even more gruesome sight than this was Jughead crumpled on the ground, blood so dark it looked nearly black in the dead of night, gushing from his head in a nonstop geyser. 

The scrap of sympathy Betty feels for Donna is nothing next to what Donna did to Jughead. She, the metaphorical brains behind the attempt to bash in Jughead’s real ones. And Betty knows what she has to do to make sure nothing like it ever happens again. 

“You carved my name into your flesh, Donna,” she hums, tenderly tracing the injury, the scabs rough beneath her fingertips. “If that’s not the textbook definition of obsession, I don’t know what is.” 

Donna tries to pull her arm away and Betty tightens her grip, ironclad.

“You’re so utterly obsessed with me, it’s pathetic. Is that the real reason you killed my boyfriend?” Betty demands, staring hard into Donna’s eyes. “You wanted me all to yourself?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Donna insists, but there’s a hitch in her breath.

As soon as Betty leans in, the facade falls away. 

Donna just can’t help herself. When Betty’s lips hover a hairsbreadth away from hers, she closes the gap. Her hands come up to cup Betty’s cheeks as she kisses her. At first slowly, like she’s trying to show restraint. Then Betty slips her tongue into her mouth and Donna can’t hold back anymore. 

She hooks her leg around Betty’s waist, slurping her tongue over Betty’s, crushing their lips together so hard it’s bound to leave bruises. On some level Betty is enjoying this, Donna’s wildfire passion, Donna’s wicked tongue darting into her mouth and hungry hands on her face. She feels a twinge of guilt for that, but supposes it’s only the nature of things, of hormones and nerve endings.

Betty snakes her hand around the the base of Donna’s skull and grasps her by the hair again. She breaks the kiss as she yanks downward. A pained yelp flees from Donna’s lips and her hands fly back, fiercely scratching at Betty’s like an ornery feral cat. 

“You killed Jughead,” Betty snarls down at her without loosening her grip, even as thin strips of her skin tear beneath Donna’s clawing fingernails as she bodily hauls her over to the desk. “You took him away from me, the least you can do is his job.” 

Donna looks up at her with wide eyes, ceasing her clawing. Betty shoves her head down, urging her down onto her knees. Donna huffs out this aggravated sound, but she doesn’t actually resist. She kneels like it’s the most natural thing in the world, even as she glowers up at Betty, blue eyes baleful and bright.   
  
“Do it, Donna. Satisfy this starved nymphomaniac,” Betty spits the borrowed insult like venom. 

Donna reaches up, fingers trembling. For a heartbeat she hesitates, like she can’t believe it’s real. As if what they both know she wants will dissolve like a dream if she dares to touch it. Then she’s tearing at Betty’s jeans, popping the fly, ripping her panties down her hips. 

Betty gasps softly at the nip of the cool air, leans back a bit into the desk as Donna gets to work. 

Donna’s hands squeeze her thighs as she devours Betty like this delectable dessert she’s been denied all her life. Despite everything, Betty is somewhat startled by the sheer ferocity of Donna’s tongue ravishing her folds in rapid fire flicks. Betty grips the edge of the desk as pleasure envelopes her, heaving out a shuddery breath. 

Donna’s tongue darts, and swirls, and delves in deep. Her fingernails pinch into Betty’s thighs and she's already twitching, pure heat coursing through her veins. She feels another twinge of guilt at how much she’s enjoying this, but it’s snuffed out as Donna’s bubblegum lips close around her clit. She sucks hard, so deliciously, agonizingly hard, and that heat inside Betty scorches like sunstroke. 

She irresistibly moans as she orgasms, the sound pulled from her lips as she feels herself spurt. Her fingers twitch in Donna’s hair, opposite hand gripping the desk so tight, her knuckles burn. For a moment, Betty allows herself to go limp against it, panting softly. 

When she peeks down at Donna, the other girl is gazing up at her, awestruck, as if beholding something angelic. Her lips are parted, mouth and chin glazed with Betty’s nectar. There’s something satisfying about seeing it there, her own juices glistening wetly on the face of this hateful girl who’s caused Betty so much grief. 

“Not bad,” she tells Donna, releasing her fistful of silky brunette and hiking her pants back up. “But not as good as Jughead.”

Thought privately, secretly, Betty doesn’t even think it’s comparable. When Jughead goes down on her, she feels lavished and cherished, pampered with pleasure by someone she loves. What Donna just did fed something darker within her, nourished the vengeful, ravenous beast that wanted nothing more than this bitch on her knees. 

Donna huffs out a furious sound, scandalized and snapping up to a stand. Before Betty realizes what’s happening, Donna’s open hand strikes her face like a thunderclap. Pain blooms in Betty’s cheek and she loses her grip on the desk, ears ringing. 

“He’s alive, isn’t he!?” Donna demands, shrill and wild-eyed. “You wouldn’t say something so vulgar if he was really dead, even if you are some sex-crazed succubus.” 

Oops. Perhaps she did tip her hand. Betty peers at Donna from the corner of her eye as the pain recedes from her cheek, calculating her next moves. She swipes her tongue over her lips and with a sweep of her arm, clears the desk. 

Papers flutter to the floor, pens clack, the lamp clatters. Betty grabs Donna by the throat and whirls, thrusting her down to the desktop. Her back thuds solidly against the polished oak, breath audibly knocked out of her, raggedly whooshing past her pussy-slick lips. 

“You know he’s dead because you killed him, you fucking lunatic,” Betty hisses, dangerously low. It isn’t hard to work herself up, not when the anger is real, not when this was so nearly the truth. “I couldn’t hurt a hair on his head, let alone bash it in. If I was going to murder anyone, believe me, it’d be you.” 

Donna’s eyes widen and Betty tightens the grip on her throat, thrumming with an indescribable thrill as she becomes acutely aware of the pressure of her palm against Donna’s windpipe. She allows her to draw breathe, but only just. If she squeezed only a bit harder, she’d be cutting off her air intake altogether. 

“Oh, I want to fucking kill you, Donna, for all the hell you’ve put me through. But I won’t, because I’m not like you. I am not a monster.” 

Donna holds Betty’s stare. Her hand crawls its way to Betty’s curled around her throat, brushing over Betty’s knuckles before resting overtop. 

“Aren’t you?” she taunts, voice a velvety hush. “You said it yourself, my wild card.” 

Donna knows right where to plunge in the knife. 

“Daughter of the Black Hood.”

Right where to twist it, too. She’s half Brett’s size and twice as dangerous. Betty gulps. It’s one thing to threaten Donna herself in the open woods in broad daylight, the comfort of Jughead’s sherpa over her shoulders. It’s far different to have the words hurled back at her after hours, here behind closed doors, her fly still wide open and heart hammering against her ribs with things she isn’t sure she should be feeling. 

Donna gently pulls Betty’s hand from her throat and guides it down her slender clavicle, over her soft breast, inevitably folding it right between her legs. Betty can feel her heat pulsing through the dressy fabric of the slacks. Donna lifts up her hips to make pulling them off easier. 

Betty pops the small black button free and unzips, hastily getting them down. Donna’s wearing simple briefs, plain and cotton, virgin white. Somehow it’s the last thing Betty imagined her in and she’s imagined Donna in her underwear more than she’d care to admit. Not as much as Donna must’ve been imagining her, according to her thighs. The skin of her thighs is just like the skin of her wrists, topographic maps of straight, deliberate, razor blade ruin. B-E-T-T-Y, B-E-T-T-Y slashed over older, smoother scars. 

It’s horrifying, almost terrifying. It would be actually terrifying, if Donna had not already tried to do her worst and failed miserably. 

With one hand, Betty yanks her panties down and with the other, she takes Donna’s satin tie, jerking her upright. She’s already wet, just like Betty knew she would be. Betty smirks beneath the rough kiss she smashes to her mouth, stroking her fingers up and down the slick folds. 

Donna snakes eager hands under her sweater as Betty gets her even wetter, slipping her tongue past Betty’s teeth. Her fingers roam beneath Betty’s bra, fanning over her breasts and then squeezing hard enough to hurt. There’s something exhilarating about the pain and irresistibly, Betty moans into her mouth. Donna huffs laughter against her lips and Betty chastises her by pinching the tip of her tongue between her teeth. 

When Donna’s throughly soaked, Betty slips two fingers in. She feels a wave of pleasure ripple through the other girl’s body, breaks the kiss to get a look at her face, eyes fluttering shut, mouth open in a poised ‘o.’ Donna looks like a choir girl caught mid-gospel note, melodious hymn on the edge of her lips. 

It’s really something to have her like this. Putty in Betty’s hands. She almost thinks she should’ve done this sooner. 

She pumps her fingers in and out, Donna rocking her hips to the rhythm. Her hands travel to Betty’s back, unclipping her bra. It slips free and then Donna’s hands are grasping Betty’s shoulder blades, fingers digging in. The pressure of them stirs the currents crackling through Betty’s veins, her anticipation heightening. 

Donna’s pleasure intensifies as Betty inserts a third finger, then a fourth, and she tosses her head, moaning rapturously. Betty absorbs the sound and then tapers her hand, shoving her knuckles past Donna’s entrance with a moist squelching noise. Donna lets out a sharp cry, gaping, features twisting in shock and pain. 

“Did you really think I was going to be gentle with you, bitch?” Betty scoffs. “You killed my boyfriend. I’m holding you accountable.” 

Donna’s mouth quivers, chest heaving. She has things to say but she cannot get them past the overwhelming sensation of Betty’s fist inside her. So she claws them into Betty’s skin instead, sinking her nails in as deep as they’ll go and raking them down. It stings, oh it stings, but the pain is sugar sweet. 

Betty rotates her wrist in rapid, circular motions. Donna gives a full-body shudder and the feeling of her tightness around Betty’s hand is nothing short of amazing. When Betty decided what she was going to do, that this was the way to get Donna off her scent (pun intended), she never realized she would enjoy herself this much. But she is, she relishes every second of it, fervor an inferno in her gut. 

She keeps going, wiggling her knuckles then spreading her fingers, savoring the sight of Donna’s face as pain and pleasure dance over her features. Betty pumps her fist with a force and Donna absolutely shreds her back, her own pain increasing as Donna’s nails gouge ribbons out of her skin. 

Betty’s never done this before, not with anyone. She’s mesmerized by experiencing her worst enemy this way, feeling the sweltering heat and coiled strength of her body from the intimate inside. She keeps going, experimenting, shifting her hand up and down, carnal excitement blazing down to the very tips of her toes as Donna throws her head back in a scream. 

Betty gasps at the gorgeous column of her throat, at the warm blood tickling down her back along the paths of Donna’s fingernails savage scrabbling. Her hand is inside someone, filling her to the brim and beyond. It gifts Betty a strange sense of power she doesn’t think she’s ever quite grasped before, not even when she wore the black wig or burned the Bulldogs’ playbook. 

She rocks her knuckles back and fourth, kneading pressure directly into the internal part of Donna’s clitoris. Donna splutters, eyes like ocean flames as she snaps forward. Her hands spasm, she forcefully tears Betty’s sleeve down so fast it nearly rips and sinks her teeth into the naked meat of Betty’s shoulder. 

Betty herself cries out as Donna smothers her scream into her skin, reaching climax. Her inner muscles contract, fixing Betty’s hand in this vicious vise that must be cutting off her circulation. She gushes around its incursion, seeping from her entrance, trickling down Betty’s wrist. 

The ache in her shoulder alleviates as Donna’s jaw relaxes and Betty feels the warmth of fresh blood rolling down her flesh. The vise of Donna’s inner walls slackens and Betty can move her hand again. Something spiteful surges in her chest and mercilessly, Betty rips her fist free. This wet sound pops into the air and Donna’s most satisfying scream yet tears from her throat, so loud Betty swears she can feel the books rattling on the shelves. 

Betty looks down at her hand, fingers coated in Donna’s nectar and blood. She brings them to her mouth and watches Donna watch her, the other girl’s chest heaving as harried pants puff from her lips. Betty licks her fingers in slow, deliberate strokes. Cleans her hand of Donna lap by languid lap, relishing the mingled metallic and salty tangs that tingle on her taste buds. 

Donna lifts her chin, gaze locking onto Betty’s. She curls her lips back to show Betty her teeth, smeared with Betty’s blood. With the same purposeful movement, she swipes her tongue over her teeth, washing them of the crimson. She looks like a cat indulging in a saucer of the richest cream. 

Despite having the upper hand for most of the evening, as she watches her blood disappear beneath Donna’s tongue, Betty feels a fleeting twinge of something like intimidation. 

“Was he in on this?” 

“What?” 

“Jughead,” Donna hums, tilting her head to the side. “Is there a camera in here so he could watch? Jerk off to a little bit of girl-on-girl?” 

Oh, for fuck’s sake. This bitch.

Betty grits her teeth, hands balling into fists. 

“Donna—“ 

“Or did you just cheat on your boyfriend for real?” Donna proposes, glee glittering in her eyes. 

Betty swallows and inhales a measured breath. 

“I can’t cheat on someone you murdered.” 

“So we’re still sticking to that story.” Donna rolls her eyes and shimmies to the end of the desk, pulling up her underwear and slacks. “You can’t control me with sex, Betty, but I give you an A for effort.” 

She winces as she steps onto the floor, one hand braced against the desk as her legs shake upon taking her weight. Donna winks at Betty over her shoulder as she makes her exit and even though she’s the one limping, Betty suddenly, jarringly wonders who really seduced who tonight…

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is a crackship so I doubt it'll get many hits, but to all of you Riverdale fans who did click...
> 
> *salesperson voice* 
> 
> Hello, I see your fandom is on fire! Why not come join us over in the Dare Me fandom while it burns? We have lesbians and aesthetic! Cheerleading and murder! Flying teeth and symbolic bracelets! If you're outside of the US, it's streaming on Netflix. If you're inside the US, it's available through the USA network, and probably on Netflix if you turn the VPN on in your browser. Give it a go, it's great! ~~I will cry if it doesn't get renewed.~~
> 
> Edit: Fixed some typos. A lot. Damn. Rly need to stop posting shit when I'm high.


End file.
